


Leaving Concord Dawn

by FettsOnTop (GTFF)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTFF/pseuds/FettsOnTop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenn Shysa is a switch striker. Boba Fett, not so much a sports fan. Just a little fan speculation about how Boba's exile from Concord Dawn happened, and the relationship between Fenn and Tobbi Dala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving Concord Dawn

_Concord Dawn, approximately 16 BBY_

 

“ _Free Mandalore_ to base command.” Fenn Shysa flipped the communicator switch back to the receiving position, but there was no response. He glanced over at his co-pilot, and Tobbi Dala frowned. Fenn toggled the switch and tried again. “ _Free Manda –_ Whoa!” His control board lit up with proximity alarms, and the autopilot began beeping frantically as a little Corellian C90 blasted past them, the engine lights a blur.

“ _Osik!_ ” Tobbi shouted. “Shields, Fenn, shields!”

“I got it, I got it! What in the hells was tha-”

A small fighter swerved around them, hot on the tail of the C90, then a second. The rader identified them immediately at the type of short-range fighters used by the Journeymen Protectors for patrol. The communicator came to life in a burst of static. “Base Command to _Free Mandalore_ ,” said a calm voice with a Concord Dawn accent. “Lenovar here. Apologies, Mandalore, we're having a bit of a chase.”

“I can see that,” Fenn replied, setting his ship to follow the fighters. “Who's the unlucky bastard?”

“We broke up a smuggling ring in the Galasken Pits this morning, and we're still clearing out some of the trash.”

“Ya want some help?”

A pause. “Couldn't hurt. I'll patch you in. Communications line four-zero-dash-zero-seven-oh, _haad'chak_. Steeven, watch your tail! Mereel, why aren't you covering him?”

Another burst of static, and Tobbi sat up and pointed. “Look. He's turnin' for an attack run.” A spray of fire came from the C90, pounding into the deflector shields of the fighters.

“I'd best warm up the guns, then. Those two fighters will have their hands full.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth when the closer fighter took a hit, one of the wings erupting into fire and smoke. Lenovar's voice came over the communications line again. “Mereel, you've been hit. Pull up. We've got reinforcements now.”

A pause, then a muffled response. “I can hold it.”

“Mereel, _pull up_ , and that's an order. Steeven, take the lead.”

“I can't get in range,” Steeven reported. “That thing's got two hot cannons, and my shields are down to ten percent.”

“I'm on it,” Tobbi said to Fenn, sprinting to the gun turret immediately. Fenn threw all of the power into the acceleration, watching his weapons charge with one eye and the fighters with the other. Steeven pulled up and fell into formation with _Free Mandalore_ , but Mereel's fighter was still charging right toward the C90.

“Mereel, pull up,” Lenovar shouted into the communicator. “Pull up or you're dead!”

“I got it,” Mereel responded calmly, and his guns lit up. The barrage of fire hit the smuggling ship dead on, and the vessel rocked with damage. 

“He got it,” Fenn echoed, stunned and impressed. “Might as well stand down, Tobbs.”

The C90 dived toward the surface of Concord Dawn, smoke trailing after it. Mereel's fighter was barely in better condition, and as Fenn watched, the side casings for the wing detached and flew off. The fighter began to rock unsteadily. “He's in trouble,” Tobbi observed as he returned to the cockpit. “Why isn't Base Command telling him to bail?”

Tobbi was right, Lenovar was curiously silent. The fighter began to slowly spiral downward. “ _Osik_ ,” Fenn hissed, following the fighter's descent. “Wait, what's that?”

“He's bailing,” Tobbi said with grimace, looking away. “Hope he's got jets.”

Mereel had gotten free of the cockpit just as the fighter turned upside down, dumping the pilot neatly into the clear blue sky. Fenn didn't realize he was holding his breath until he saw the twin engines of a jet pack roar to life. It was still a pretty dicey trick, because the jets couldn't carry him the entire way down. He had to use the jet power to break his fall, and he had to time it just right, or he was going to die unpleasantly.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they watched the pilot fight with gravity. His engines cut off just before the tree line, but Fenn couldn't tell if it was intentional or a burnout. Steeven's voice broke in on the communications line. “Did he make it?”

“Steeven, fly over the target ship and confirm the hit,” Lenover snapped in response. “ _Mand'alor_ , can you see him?”

“He's in the trees now,” Fenn replied, busy with his controls. “Could be he made it, we'll check it out.”

Tobbi waited until the communication line was closed to speak. “Only two fighters after a C90. That strike ya as a little funny, Fenn? Poor judgment, at least.”

“At least...look, there's something.”

_Free Mandalore_ eased down into a clearing. As they exited the ship, Mereel dropped from the lower branches of a tree, his armor covered in leaves and twigs, his jet pack smoking. He faltered a moment, then reached for his helmet, snatching it off his head just time to drop to his knees and vomit. Fenn chuckled, relived. “Well, if his stomach's workin', he's got to be fine.” 

“Ride like that will make anyone a mite dizzy,” Tobbi agreed.

The young man heaved again, then wiped his mouth and lifted his head to watch their approach. Fenn Shysa stopped completely in his tracks. “ _Osik_. I'm not seein' things, am I?”

“He does look a little familiar,” Tobbi said, offering a hand up to the young pilot. “Mereel, is it?” 

Ignoring the gesture, he staggered to his feet on his own, his expression wary. “Jaster Mereel.”

“My _shebs_ ,” Tobbi replied wryly. “How old are ya? Sixteen? Seventeen? Jaster's been dead twice that long, kid. What are ya? One of Skirata's clone deserters?”

“No,” Fenn said, still in shock. “That's Boba Fett.”

“Little Boba?” Tobbi looked the young man over skeptically. “Thought he was supposed to be dead.”

“Has to be him,” Fenn insisted. “The age is right, and just _look_ at that face. That's Boba Fett or I'm a Trandoshan Padawan.”

Boba Fett's hand slipped back toward the grip of his blaster and Tobbi dropped his hand to his own weapon. “Don't be stupid, kid. We kill bigger and scarier men than you before breakfast every morning.”

“Ease up,” Fenn ordered, extending his hand. “ _Su'cry_ , Boba. I'm Fenn Shysa and this is Tobbi Dala.” After a moment, Boba took it.

“You're the Mandalore.”

“Just like your dad was, not that anyone could fill those boots,” Fenn shook his head, grinning like he'd just been given a present. “I gotta tell ya, I'm awfully glad ya ain't dead. And here ya are on your dad's homeworld, wearing a protector sash. Who woulda thought it.”

Boba glanced back at the smoking remains of his fighter, his tone carefully neutral. “Are you going to tell them who I am?”

“Don't see a reason to,” Fenn replied with a shrug.“If ya want to lay low, that's your business. And if anyone has a right to Jaster's name, it's Jango's kid.”

“Hard to believe you managed to hide this long,” Tobbi drawled. “Has anyone told ya that ya look a bit like him?”

Boba's attention shifted towards the other man, his eyes cold. “Funny.”

“This ain't Jango's part of Concord Dawn,” Fenn corrected. “His people were from the northern plains. Ya been over there to your grandad's farm?”

“No.”

“Well, we gotta fix that.” He gave the younger man a friendly slap on the back. “Ya know what you need? Ale. Somethin' with a nice frothy head on it will settle your stomach right down.”

“I'm fine,” Boba replied tersely.

“Are ya sure? 'Cause ya look a little green still. C'mon, I'm buyin'.” 

Tobbi shifted in an agitated way. “We didn't came out here to grab a drink and go sightseeing, _'Alor_. We got business at the base, and I'm sure 'Mereel' here needs to report back.”

“Ah, yeah, I guess we should get ya back,” Fenn conceded reluctantly. “Another time, maybe.”

 

_Felwoy Command Base, Concord Dawn_

 

The Command Base for the sector was in a modified air control tower, modified in the practical Mandalorian sense of the word. Scrap metal from old transport ships had been welded together into a hanger, a narrow walkway encircling the bay a good twenty feet off the ground.

From the walkway, Fenn and Tobbi had a perfect view of the hanger deck where Boba Fett was receiving a thorough dressing-down from the base commander. They couldn't really hear what he was saying over the other noises in the hanger, but they didn't really need to. Lenovar's thin face that was red and twisted with anger. He gestured and shouted, while Boba remained stone-faced and silent.

“He's a little worked up,” Fenn commented to Tobbi.

“A good commander would be, after almost losin' two of his men.”

“Yeah, but would a good commander have gone quiet like that, with a man going down?” 

“The kid wasn't exactly listenin', was he?”

“He made the shot.” Fenn caught the look his friend was giving him. “What? Ya said yourself two fighters to a C90 is poor judgment.”

“I don't know if I can trust _your_ judgment right now,” Tobbi replied coolly. “Considerin' you're all atwitter like a girl over that kid.”

Fenn laughed, but it sounded uncomfortable, even to his own ears. He wondered if his face was red. “It ain't like you to be jealous, Tobbs.”

“Ya already tried and failed to make one clone into Jango Fett,” Tobbi responded intensely. “Can't ya just let it go?”

“This isn't just a clone, this is his _son_. Jango trained him.”

“So he's what? The heir to the _ky'rebs_? _Osik_ , Fenn, do ya know how crazy ya sound? We're Mandalorians. Blood don't make a Mandalore.”

Down on the hanger floor, Lenovar stepped up close to his subordinate. His menacing expression made it look like a threat of some kind. Boba turned his head just enough to meet his eyes for a long, tense moment. Then he turned and walked away. Lenovar remained for a moment to regain his composure before he turned toward the ladder up to the walkway.

“Sorry about that,” he said abruptly as he joined them. “Jaster Mereel. Excellent pilot, terrible attitude.”

Fenn hardly heard him. Boba had stopped near the repair station, his head tilting up as he spoke to a striking, dark-haired girl who was perched up on the wing of a trashed vessel, a welding torch in her hands. She set it aside and Boba lifted his arms to help her down. He didn't let her go, even when her feet were planted firmly on the deck. She was shaking her head and laughing as she picked a twig off his shouldergaurd.

“Ain't that sweet,” Tobbi said blandly. “Little Jaster's got himself a little girlfriend.”

“His wife,” Lenovar replied with a dismissive sneer. “She's not Mando. Kiffar, or something.” There was a something about the tone of his voice, and the strength of his derision that struck a wrong chord with Fenn. It didn't seem appropriate, no matter how much Lenovar and Fett clashed. Tobbi's comment was still fresh in his mind, however, so he thought he'd better steer clear of all topics relating to Boba Fett.

“We'd best be getting on,” Lenovar said in a friendlier tone. “Commander Cord will be waiting. He says you've got a plan to get the Empire off our _shebs_.”

 

_Concord Dawn Penal Facility, One Year Later_

 

Fenn left Mandalore in the middle of the night and landed at the Concord Dawn Penal Facility in the early morning. It was pouring down rain when he landed, no sign of the rising sun. 

“What an unexpected honor,” said the grizzled Journeyman Protector who met him at the entrance. His tone of voice implied that it was much less an honor than an imposition. 

Fenn removed his helmet, shaking the water off it and gave the man a smile. “Finch'r, is it? The honor's all mine.”

“You're here about 'Jaster Mereel.'” Finch'r said directly. “We decided to keep using his alias for the trial. We wouldn't want the verdict to be clouded by loyalty to Jango Fett.”

“Of course not,” Fenn replied quickly. “'Swift Justice,' like it says above your door there. Now, what's the deal?”

“Not much to it. He murdered his commanding officer Lenovar in cold blood and without remorse.” Finch'rs eyes cut over to Fenn. “The Code is clear. Protectors who kill their own face the firing squad.”

He'd expected nothing less, but the news still left a lump in Fenn Shysa's throat. “He's only eighteen.”

“We've had younger.”

“What about the circumstances? Lenovar -”

“ _Mand'alor_ ,” Finch'r interrupted with a steely glint in his eye, “if you think any of us relish executing Jango's son, you're wrong. If you think we don't know that Lenovar was a son-of-a-bitch, you're wrong there too. His pleader did everything he could for him, everything that could be done. Boba Fett is a killer. We can't have him here.”

“All right,” Fenn said, seizing on that idea. “Fair enough. What if he wasn't here? Permanent exile. Give him his ship, his armor, he and his wife leave tonight. Not your problem anymore.”

“Ex-wife now, and she's gone. Her and the baby.”

“All the more reason for mercy,” Fenn insisted. 

“You can make your request to the council,” the older man replied dryly. “If you feel like wasting your breath. The sentence has been handed down, all that's left to do is inform the prisoner and assemble the squad.”

Fenn Shysa drew in a breath, bracing himself to do what he'd never done once in seven years. “I ain't making a request,” he said evenly. “I'm the Mandalore, and this is an order. Boba Fett leaves with me.”

 

_Atmosphere Boundary, Concord Dawn_

 

Boba Fett sat in the co-pilot's seat aboard _Free Mandalore_ , still wearing his faded gray prison uniform, his feet bare. His hair was longer and starting to curl. It should have made him look younger, but it seemed to Fenn that any traces of youth were completely gone from his face now.

When he finally did speak, it actually startled Fenn. “Where's my ship?”

“I got some fellas bringing it to a rendezvous point on Concordia. Your armor, too. I'm afraid any other assets ya got are seized.”

“Will they give them to Sin?”

“I dunno,” Fenn admitted. “If they can find her, maybe.” He waited a moment, then cautiously continued. “If ya got an idea where she might be, I can send her the coordinates.”

There was something there, a flash of pain in his eyes before he buried it. “No,” he said, his eyes fixed on the vanishing horizon of Concord Dawn. “I don't have anything to say.”

“What about your kid? Might be a while before ya see her again.”

Boba's jaw tightened, but he shook his head, and Fenn thought he'd better let it go. There was another long stretch of silence, and then Boba spoke up abruptly. “I owe you,” he said. “For my ship. My armor. Probably my life. How do you want me to settle it?”

“Ah...” He repositioned his hands on the ship's controls. “I didn't do it to make ya obligated.”

“Why did you do it?” He asked the question without any inflection, as if he was simply curious.

Fenn turned his head and gave him a quick grin. “When I got it figured out myself, I'll let ya know. It was just somethin' I had to do.” 

Boba's steady gaze conveyed a healthy dose of skepticism, but he didn't say anything in response. 

“So, where will ya go next?” Fenn asked eventually.

“Wherever I can find some work.”

“Well, maybe it ain't of interest, but I can always use a fierce barve like you in the resistance.”

“A killer,” Boba said flatly. 

Fenn gave him a quick look. “I ain't convinced you're that far gone. Your dad never killed anyone that didn't need killin'.” Engaging autopilot, he took his hands off the controls and tucked them behind his head. “Ya know, I'll never forget the first time I saw Jango Fett. I was just a sprout, maybe five or so, but I straightened right up, even though my legs were shakin'. He was just like that, ya looked at him and ya wanted to be sharper. A real leader. A real Mandalore.” He looked over at Boba. “Ya got a little of that in ya. And I think you'd take to bein' a rebel, given half a chance. What do ya think? Want to come back with me to Mandalore?”

“I don't think your friend Dala would like that.” 

Once again, Fenn was caught off guard. “...Picked up on that, did ya?”

The young man shrugged. “He doesn't like me. I figured you were married or something.”

“Tobbi and me been together since we were kids,” Fenn said carefully. “It's a little like bein' married, but we ain't.”

“Does he know that?”

“It's complicated,” he replied, fighting the edge he could hear in his own voice. “Tobbi's a great guy, and my best friend in the world. He's just...well, it's like _meshgeroya_.There's the back striking team, and the forward defenders, ya know?”

Boba shook his head. “I never really understood that game.”

“Ah, it doesn't matter. The thing is, everyone's got their position. Some guys are better strikers, and some guys are better defenders. Tobbi's a born defender, through and through. Me, I'm pretty good at both. A switch striker. Now and then I take to a lady, and Tobbi usually don't mind. He just gets touchy about...some things.” Fenn rubbed the back of his neck, sure that his face was red now. His friend and partner had had a number of things to say about Fenn dashing off to Concord Dawn to save Boba Fett, and none of them were flattering.

“Some things,” Boba repeated. “Like you trying to pick up other men in front of him?”

Fenn's face turned even redder. “All right, ya cheeky _di'kut_. I didn't know ya were married, did I?” He was sure he'd put his foot in it now, but to his great relief, the younger man didn't seem repulsed or angry. His expression was thoughtful, as if he was taking it all apart in his head and putting it back together. “So you want me.”

What Fenn wanted at the moment was to run away from this conversation as fast and and as far as possible. He unsnapped his belt and stood, trying not to be obvious about it. “Are ya hungry? I forgot to ask before, and I can't imagine they give ya good grub in jail.”

Boba stood as well, bringing the two of them face to face in the small cockpit, though Fenn was nearly a head taller. “Is it because of my dad? Because I look like him?”

Fenn glowered down at him. “You're kind of a _shabuir_ , has anyone told ya that? I do a nice thing for ya, out of the kindness of my heart and the respect I had for your dad. Do ya see me trying to drag ya to my bunk? No. Ya got your position, and I respect that. Don't make me out to be some kinda freak or jerk tryin' to take advantage.” Fenn took a menacing step closer, and Boba tensed like a coiled spring. “Now sit down, and shut up while I make us some dinner.”

Boba held his ground for a charged second or two, then broke the tension by looking away. “I didn't ask for your help,” he muttered, dropping back into his seat. 

“No, ya didn't,” Fenn agreed. “But ya got it anyway.”

“Why?” He asked again, this time with an intense mixture of curiosity and frustration. 

Fenn paused, searching for the true answer, or at least the answer he hoped was true. “Well, there's only one Boba Fett in this galaxy, and someday I might need him. And when that day comes, I'm gonna remind ya -” he leveled a finger at Boba as if aiming a gun. “-that ya owe me.”

Boba folded his arms over his chest, his fierce glare aimed at the stars. “And you say I'm the _shabuir_.”

 


End file.
